Lethal Intrigue
by RedAngel9
Summary: When Hermione becomes spellbound by the wand of Bellatrix Lestrange, her attraction can lead to a deadly interest into finding out Why Bellatrix Lestrange is her evil, insane self, and why she can't shake her from her thoughts.
1. Chapter 1

Owls had always fascinated her. To those of her world, they were simply a means of communication, not better than a pigeon, no bolder than a pet parakeet. But to her, owls took on their ancient meanings of wisdom, secrecy…transition. There was always transition in her life since she was very young, and often not for the better. Discovering that she was a witch at a young age was at first such an interesting and exciting development to her life, but now the thoughts of how her life was suddenly taking such negative turns for the worst made her only beg that her next transition was a positive one.

Soon they would set out for their journey together, and Hermione could not be any more nervous. Ron and Harry could be heard in the room below hers murmurings softly during a restless night's sleep. She lay in bed, contemplating her current situation. Her parents were in Australia, charmed into believing that their daughter never existed, a fact that stung Hermione to the core. But, precautions had to be taken to ensure their safety, after all their unknown daughter was getting ready to go out and destroy pieces of the soul of potentially one of the darkest wizards of all time. She rolled onto her back and let out a soft sigh, attempting not to awaken Luna who slept across the small room for her.

She peered over at Luna, her platinum hair covered most of her face. Hermione could just make out a few soft strands rustling with each deep breath the pale girl took. Hermione marveled at the peaceful sleep that Luna seemed to so effortlessly drift into. She both envied and marveled at the girl's general outlook on life. How someone could so seamlessly float through life, especially at a time such as this, absolutely amazed her.

Her brown curls fanned out around her pillow and her face, small ringlets draping across her neck and tickling her shoulders. She tried to force herself into sleep, but nothing would come. A small stream of moonlight lit the creaky floorboards and intensified the shadows of the room. She saw in them mysterious figures from the back of her mind, each one skillfully cloaking themselves in the corners of the room. Her eyes shut for a brief moment and she was reminded of the faces of those who so often hid behind pale metal masks. There was always one, however, brave enough to reveal her piercing stare to the world as she stayed on the side of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Black cascading curls which seemed like the shadows themselves forming a figure to attack the living. Dark eyes against an alabaster skin which seemed as if it would feel like ice to the touch, and black leather and satin covering her womanly curves and sinewy muscles which were predatorily enough to take down a grown man without effort. Supple lips which would be so becoming if psychotic laughter wouldn't so constantly erupt.

She couldn't relive her mind of Bellatrix Lestrange. The burning scar on her arm served as a constant reminder for whenever her thoughts had reached temporary solace from the wrong minded witch. The word 'Mudblood' crudely carved into her flesh seemed no more painful than the other times which she had been called the name, but it was the fact the Bellatrix had been the one to slowly break her flesh that kept the mental burn. The things Bellatrix could have potentially done to Hermione both terrified and fascinated her. Her nimble hands were capable of creating so much destruction, and her intelligently evil mind held back no ideas.

She turned and looked to her bedside table to see the wand of the woman which was currently haunting her mind. The magical aura surrounding it seemed as black as the ebony locks adorning its owner's head. It was a dark but strong magic, one filled with an intense amount of passion. The connection of the wand and its witch made an almost overwhelming feeling when around it, one of limitless brutality.

Delicately, and ever so carefully, Hermione reached out to touch the crooked wand of Bellatrix Lestrange. As if recognizing the girl's blood status, a shock of negative energy flooded her hand, warning her to stay from the dark woman's wand. Hermione timidly jerked back her hand.

Hermione was becoming mesmerized by the wand, the energy, and the dark witch that it all stemmed from. Her thoughts became a tomb which she buried herself in, and sleep became the farthest thing from her mind. She needed to know why she became so obsessed with this woman, why the witch of her nightmares perplexed her so greatly. She stared up at the ceiling for hours, images of Bellatrix haunting her vision, as if she was watching a film role over and over again.

She reached out quickly for the wand and grasped it entirely in her fist. The surges of energy almost felt like shocks up her arm, but she fought the feeling until the wand's rebelliousness ebbed. Sitting up on the edge of the bed, she realized that sitting here was doing no more than making her lose her sanity. Action, regardless the type, was necessary, and she got up and fled Shell Cottage to walk into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

The salty wind buffeted her skin gently as she made her way down the shoreline. Hermione walked briskly away from the silhouette of Shell Cottage and towards the edge of the waves breaking gently in the moonlight. The breeze played with her hair, every so often catching a strand in her vision. The sand picked up and clung to her skin and tangled into her unruly hair.

She dipped her feet swiftly into the oncoming rush of sea foam, feeling the temporary cleanse of sand from her feet, only to once again be tainted by the water's salty remains.

She reflected on this feeling and compared it to her mental state. Her mind felt cleansed, in a sense, because she was safely nestled away on the shoreline with friends who would defend her to the very end. There was a roughly tainted aftertaste about the whole scene, however, when one considered the circumstances in which they were there. The entire setting was also tainted when one considered the only thing on Hermione's mind.

She absent-mindedly walked deeper into the ocean's waves, until soon she was waste deep in the water. The waves were cold, enough to temporarily snap her out of her trance which encircled around Bellatrix Lestrange. Hermione had hoped this would work as, at the very least, a quick fix to relieve her mind of the devilish woman.

She held tight to the dark witch's wand in her right hand, letting a soft glow from its end reflect along the water with the moonlight. Her other arm dipped into the frothing waves, and the salty consistency stung the newly formed scar on her forearm.

Once again, she was reminded why she was not herself, and once again she was imagining being held down by the wicked woman who carved the freshly sore scar into her arm. The salty waves were like an animal licking away at the flesh's wounds; however, her mind was raging at them once more.

The wand she held in her hand was sending small pulses up her arm, however, her limb had now become numb and accustomed to the dull pain that it was being put through. The magic inside its core was darker than the waves surrounding her, and it almost seemed to pulsate harder every time her thoughts focused on Bellatrix. The blackened wand began to feel harder to hold the longer she focused on the dark witch, as if it was mentally struggling to find its way back to the proper owner.

Hermione gripped the wand until the whites of her knuckles protruded, and still she felt as if she was holding melting ice.

Suddenly a particularly painful shockwave penetrated its way from the wand up to her chest. The pain was surprising enough that it took a moment to set in, but she had already lost her balance as a wave crashed against her.

The riptide pulled her underwater violently, plunging her into a swirling darkness with no air.

Hermione panicked, each second she struggled to reach the surface in her muddled state, another wave forced her down before she could break the surface. Her lungs stung with the need for air, but she was trapped in a swirling rhythm of waves. The edges of her vision blackened like an old photograph and she desperately clung to the only solution in her mind; apparating.

Without stable ground it was risky, but caught in the riptide and unable to resurface she would drown in a matter of seconds. Closing her eyes and focusing, she attempted to envision the shoreline directly in front of Shell Cottage. She attempted to turn her body and cast the spell when a split second before she could catch herself the wand pulsated again, sending her concentration back to the dark witch.

With a pop causing residual bubbles to surface along the waves, Hermione disappeared from the watery depths near Shell Cottage.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione coughed up the water from her lungs, her burning insides desperately trying to extinguish the pain. Between her coughs she took in massive gulps of air, almost choking herself with her need of oxygen. She had pushed herself up from the ground on her hands to emit the stinging salt water from her system, but shakily she couldn't support herself for long and she fell back onto the ground to face the sky.

Hermione dizzily opened her eyes, trying weakly to maintain consciousness. She felt as if she would pass out at any moment, and while Harry and the others could just come out and find her in the morning, she felt that if she lost consciousness now, her chances of making it until morning were slim to none. Looking up to the clear, starlit night she attempted to find a sense of balance.

She had been bruised and scraped by the sea floor; a few sharply broken shells had gashed her cheeks and torn her soaked clothes. There was a desperately sharp pain on her right side, and she realized that she had been either splinched during the apparition, or a terribly sharp piece of debris had sliced her open.

She tried to angle herself to view the wound but it was too painful and she was too weak. She delicately followed its direction with her hand to gauge how large it was. The wound spanned from her bottom right rib towards her sternum, not deep enough to pierce an organ but still bad enough to cause a severely sharp pain every time her fingers would get too close.

She tried not to let panic set in. At the very least the majority of her wounds were bathed in saltwater, so the chances of them infecting immediately had decreased. Instead she was much more concerned about shock setting in due to exhaustion and loss of blood. She felt week and her adrenaline caused her waves of nausea that she tried to fight back.

Hermione then realized that what was aiding to her pains throughout her body was the wand that was madly pulsating in her hand.

She still had the wand, which meant that if she could keep herself mentally oriented for long enough, she could cast a healing charm. If she was lucky enough, the charm to heal the wound would make her feel stable enough to cast a blood replenishing charm as well.

She closed her eyes, attempting to find a state of balance without fading into unconsciousness. She raised the now electrifyingly painful wand so that it balanced over the bleeding gash on her ribs. Whispering the words and slowly forming the motions awkwardly with Bellatrix's wand, the wound began to awkwardly stitch itself up.

Relief swelled throughout her body, and a rush of adrenaline made her feel nauseatingly dizzy once more. The loss of blood and exhausting disorientation made the view of the night sky tinted with even blacker edges that reminded her of an old vignette on some photographs.

Now that she was able to move without the sharp pain in her side, she was more capable of performing a blood replenishing charm, and did so accordingly. She felt as if a warm blanket was being draped over her body, enveloping her in a comfortable state of healthiness. Hermione could live with the minor cuts and scrapes for now until she got back to Shell Cottage up the shoreline.

The shoreline. It was now in her newly recovered state that she realized that she didn't hear the foamy lapping of waves upon sand, nor did she feel the salty breeze from the waters. She mustered all her strength to sit up and look around and the surrounding area.

Darkness and thick shadows surrounded Hermione. She was in a dusty clearing of sorts; the dirt was dry and coarse enough to resemble sand. There were a few week tufts of grass, but true foliage only began a ways away from her in the form of thick, ancient Oak trees which dominated the horizon line. Though the trees sheer size was awe astounding to Hermione, it was what she saw within them that got her tired heart rapidly pounding. Nestled into the trees, like a lurking predator stalking her for prey, stood a proudly dark mansion.

Though it bore no name of who lived within the residence, Hermione had a good idea who lived in this towering structure.

She stood and prepared herself to apparate once more, this time into a realm of safety. She focused her mind on the image of Shell Cottage and with a jerk she turned.

There was no sickening pull, and when she opened her eyes, she found herself still standing in front of the imposing mansion. She looked around haphazardly for the hindrance of her spell, only to see a wrought iron gate far off in the opposite direction of the Shadowy dwelling.

She was within the owner's grounds, within the land of one of the most ancient, darkest families in Europe.

The wand of Bellatrix Lestrange was home, and it refused to allow Hermione to take it away.


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione panted, racing towards the iron gates and as far as possible from the dark building looming in the horizon. With every inch closer she got to the gate, her sore body screamed for her to halt, but she knew that she couldn't afford any hindrances.

The gate was nearly directly in front of her, when she noticed the searing pain in her hand. The wand had began to shoot fiery jolts of dark magic into her system, as if it knew that it was being torn once more from its true master. The dark wand seemed to vibrate like a hot liquid, dizzying Hermione with a piercing pain unlike any of the other times the wand had rebelled before.

She tripped over herself, doubling in pain. Her fist was clenched tightly around the wand, muscles paralyzed by the injuring shocks. Forcefully she pried her fingers from the wand with the assistance of her other hand, and with a hollow thud the wand fell to the barren ground.

She couldn't afford to go without a wand, and the prospects of Bellatrix retrieving her wand seemed even worse. Quickly she shed her soaked jumper and wrapped it around the tortuous wand. Bundled in the cloth, the power of the wand became muffled to a dull throbbing within her hands. She let out a shivery sigh from being left in a thin, black tank top, still wet from the clinging saltwater.

The iron gates before her looked as sinister as the family to whom they belonged. Intricate metal vine-work coiled its way around every bar, and little sharp thorns accentuated the realism of the metallic relief. The very top of the gate pierced the sky with sharp prongs that seemed lethally unavoidable should she attempt to climb over them. It would perhaps be jagged, but if she could manage to climb part of the way up, she could latch onto the surrounding brick wall and climb over the rest of the way. It was really the only option she had, since her only means of performing magic was not only unwilling to help her, but it was also painfully aware that she was trying to escape.

She held stiffly onto the wand and braced herself for an arduous climb. The gates seemed to be staring down at her, daring her to attempt such a task as conquering them.

Tentatively she let her hand wrap around a cold metal bar of the gate.

After a second of deathly stillness, nothing happened to her and she let out a sigh of relief.

Suddenly the sharpened metal vines detached themselves from the bars of the gate. What once was detailed decoration now became vicious weapons which tightly slithered there way around her wrist.

Hermione cried out in both surprise and fear. She attempted to pull away, only leaving bloody red streaks around her wrists; the thorns had sunken into her skin. Any movement would increase her pain, and make her injuries worse.

Hermione, desperate for release realized that she must risk the pain of dominating the pulsating wand wrapped within her jumper. Carefully she unwrapped it with one hand, careful not to drop the only hope she had of escaping.

Her hand shook in pain as she grasped the dark wand. She lifted it to the vines and attempted with all of her might to exterminate the metal strands coiling up her arm.

"Reducto!" she let out harshly, touching the wand to the metal vines.

A harsh scream enveloped the area. In shock, Hermione dropped the wand, which appeared to be the source of the terrible sound. The high pitch made her want to faint from the pain numbing her ears. The edges of her vision blurred from tears welling in her eyes, and in a loss of attention her hand had flung back too far, right into the grasp of the iron gate.

She stood there now, completely bound by the dark, piercing metal. Bellatrix's wand continued the siren like shriek even now that it was freely laying on the ground.

"Well, Well, Well, what do we have here?"

Hermione felt her blood run cold. Her heart began to race and the cuts on her arm ran fresh with new blood.

"Itty bitty muddy come to bring me back my wand?"

Bellatrix glided forth from the shadows, silently approaching the now panicking Hermione Granger.

The wand immediately ceased its fatal cry once it sensed the presence of its true master. Hermione could not but help to wonder at how alive the wand seemed, and how devoted it appeared to Madame Lestrange.

Bellatrix stopped a mere foot away from the captured girl, and simply outstretched her hand. The wand flew into the palm of the woman, and she seemed to exhale in completion.

"Now, how should I thank the mudblood for returning me what is mine?"

She looked at the girl, bloody and soaked from her night thus far, no doubt all thanks to her precious wand. But the night was young, and her wand craved to be used by its master in so many terrible ways.

A cruel smile swept over her striking features, one that was almost like a child up to no good.

"Crucio."


	5. Chapter 5

**Whoohoo two chapters up within 24 hours! I am on a role! Thanks for all of the Reviews! They push me to update this quicker! **

When she woke she couldn't bring herself to feel relieved that she was alive. Hermione worked up the courage to open her eyes, slowly, only to discover that the world surrounding her was just as dark as it was behind her eyelids. She refused to move a muscle, not that she really could, for her entire body felt so sore that it was cemented in place. That place seemed to be a freezing, dank cement ground. Even the shiver from the cold that ran through her battered form sent her into a wave of pain.

She had no idea where Bellatrix seemed to store her, though Hermione's best guess was that it was in some underground room. No cracks of light even hinted at her surroundings, therefore she couldn't see what the room contained, how big it was, or if she was even alone.

Perhaps that meant that if something or someone else was there with her, they also couldn't see her. Gathering what little strength she had she held her breath in struggling concentration and heaved herself into a sitting position.

She exhaled the breath she had been holding, realizing that a slight echo emanated from the sound.

'_So the room I'm in must be larger, and cavernous.'_ She thought to herself, trying to gather any detail possible.

Simply sitting up seemed to be a trial to her with the current state of her body. Hermione knew that escape would be near impossible with her in such a weak state, however, that did not stop the hope pounding along with every heartbeat.

Rolling to her side, she placed her hands onto the ground and prepared herself to push upward. With a miserable groan that shook her body she eased her way up. Standing felt both like an accomplishment and like a trap. She was now more mobile, but she also became more disoriented within the pitch black room.

'_I need to find a wall. I can't simply stand in the middle of this place, vulnerable.' _Hermione prepared to start walking, praying that she wouldn't fall back onto the hard ground. She knew if something tripped her she wouldn't be able to raise herself up again. There were other fears looming in the back of her mind as well. _'It's what else I might find in this dark that I'm afraid of.'_

She slowly shuffled her way into a random direction, keeping her feet almost completely on the ground. She walked for what felt like forever, but it was rationally only a minute or so before she came in contact with a flat surface directly in front of her. Reaching her hand out, she felt across the surface to find that it was a cold stone similar to the ground. She had finally found a wall.

'_I will just follow this until I find the door.'_ Not that Hermione knew what she would do once she came upon the door, but each discovery that would lead closer to her freedom would spurn her hope enough to get her out of this mess.

She started to edge along the surface of the wall, one hand desperately clinging to the surface while the other reached outwards as if to warn her of oncoming obstacles. The room was long, and it took her quite a while before she reached a corner connecting her with the next wall. She carefully kept track of her direction and continued on the second wall.

This wall was slightly shorter, she surmised, meaning that the room was almost hall-like. Every surface she had come in contact with was the same cold stone surface. The stone was flat and unyielding.

There was a gash in one part of this wall. Hermione desperately felt at it in hopes that it might be the door, however, it was at such an impossible angle and too thin to lead to an exit. Still, this gash served as a marker of where in the room she was. If something went wrong, she could find herself again at this marker.

Hermione continued on until she made it to the next corner. Again she walked along in the dark, and her mind began to play tricks on her. She thought that she would see shapes around her shifting, and believed that subtle sounds not her own were surrounding her. This made every step she took more hesitant, more filled with fear. She had to escape the darkness before her own mind became her demise.

Her steps were now slightly frantic, and she began to lean her entire body desperately against the wall, scraping against the dank stone as she moved along.

Another corner. She was making progress around the room, but to where she didn't know. She had hoped to have found the doorway by now, but she still carried on along the walls.

She was close, she just knew it. Any second now her body would brush against a separate surface, signifying the door to her freedom from this insane blackness.

She worked her way more excitedly down the wall. She rapidly scraped along, knowing that the door had to be somewhere close by.

She practically slammed into another corner.

'_A fourth corner? But It can't be.' _Hermione's inner voice protested against this corner that she now shoved herself in. The logical side immediately piped up in order to calm her, and she stated to herself that she had no reason to believe that this room was rectangular. She hadn't thought to study the angles of the corners, so she couldn't justify that there were only four walls.

Hope still beating on, Hermione kept along the path of the wall once more. She walked along the broad surface until once again another wall began and her current one ended.

Hermione let out an impatient sigh before moving along to the next wall.

The gash in the wall stopped her in her tracks.

"That can't be!" She shouted, out loud this time, desperate for answers. She had covered every wall and found no exit whatsoever. Her heart plummeted.

"Nice try my clever little mudblood." The chilling voice whispered into her ear, playfully cruel. For once, Hermione praised the darkness, for Bellatrix wouldn't be able to see the absolute terror flushed across Hermione's face.

"Where am I?" She braved a slight whisper, hoarse from a dry throat. She dared not turn to face where the voice of Bellatrix had emerged from.

"Somewhere that no-one will be able to find you," As she spoke the darkness seemed to die slightly. She could almost see the gash penetrating the wall that she desperately clung to. "Somewhere that only I can visit you," The darkness ebbed once more and she noticed the conjoining wall ahead of her, and now she almost wished that she would have just walked the perimeter for an eternity looking for the nonexistent door. "Somewhere that no-one can here you scream."

Her sharp cackling laugh removed the rest of the darkness, and the unknown light source showed Hermione her new prison. It was a long, rectangular room, the walls and floor seemed to be made of a smooth stone, cold and damp to the touch. There really was no door, meaning the only way that she anyone could enter or leave the room was by apparation.

"Enjoying yourself, muddy?" Bellatrix stood in front of her now, a gleeful countenance dancing across her features.

"Please," Hermione's voice seemed too timid for her own good.

"Please, what, Muddy? I am simply thanking you for the return of my wand. I would have killed you by now if it were otherwise. Instead I have given you your own room, and have even chosen to leave you unchained…..for now."

Was she supposed to thank the maddeningly crazy woman who stood before her? She was lucky that Hermione was even staying conscious during all of this.

"Now, for the finishing touches."

The wand that trapped her into this entire situation emerged from Bellatrix's tight robes, and with a flick a small cot and toilet appeared along the opposite wall.

"Mudblood!" Her call made her jump, and soon she found herself backed against the wall, Bellatrix's form enclosing over her own. "I hope you enjoy my accommodations made for you, they are almost identical to those that I _enjoyed_ for fifteen years." At the word 'enjoyed' a snarl formed, followed by a childlike pout that completed her look of pure insanity.

The wand clutched in the hands of the older witch almost hummed in satisfaction. Hermione could almost feel the vibrations emanating from the weapon from where she stood. She risked a glance away from Bellatrix's dark eyes and at the wand clutched in her palm.

Bellatrix followed her glance and smirked. "My wand," She brought it to Hermione's throat, who held her breath in fear and anticipation. "You will never touch it again, but it will touch you." A small giggle came from her as she stroked Hermione with the dark wand from the nape of her neck to the edges of her cleavage showing from beneath the shirt. Hermione let out a gasp. She felt jolts of black magic flicker along the trail that the wand had followed, painful paralyzing shocks hissed their way along her neck and chest. She had never seen a wand capable of such ability, such personality.

"It was a gift, a one of a kind." As if reading her mind, Bellatrix spoke of the magical tool within her grasp. "Capable of so much power, and destruction. And it will always be only mine."

With a prod into her chest a burst of constricting energy flooded her chest, and she felt her lungs freeze and her pulse slow painfully. It felt as if every vein would burst painfully. She had little to reflect on the spell, noting only with surety that this was how she would die.

As soon as the curse was cast it disappeared and she fell to the floor gasping for air. She felt the blood begin to once more circulate throughout her system, leaving her entire body to throb painfully.

"Had enough? Pity. We are just getting started."


	6. Chapter 6

**So sorry about the delay, guys. I don't have any decent excuse, and as slowly as this is going I hope you all stay interested. I will try to pursue this with more prompt posting. **

* * *

Hermione prayed for death. She recalled the story of the deathly hollows, and at this moment she would gladly greet death as an old friend. Shedding her cloak of lifewas not as simple, however, for every time her body began to end her struggle with the battle of survival, a feeling of rejuvenation coursed through her veins.

At first, Hermione believed it was simply her own will to survive, but after that hope was long since gone she realized it was through other means that she clung to life.

"Now now now little Muddikins, I thought you'd fight for life a little harder than that." Bellatrix cackled as she sent a spell towards Hermione. Unlike the others prior, this one was silently cast, and covered her with the warmth of a rudimentary healing. It wasn't enough to completely restore her from Bellatrix's thorough torturing; however, it was enough to sustain her weakening thread of life.

Bellatrix would build her up, only to once again break her down.

This maddening woman, bringing her to the brink of death to snatch her back and go around once more, was looming over her with a sadistic grin of pure bliss. When Hermione looked up at her captor past the velvety hem of her black dress, she saw Bellatrix lovingly rolling her wand throughout her long fingers. There was an almost lusty stare at her wand, almost the same psychotic seeming devotion gracing her dark eyes that she showed when in the presence of the Dark Lord.

'_Damn the wand.' _Hermione bitterly snarled despite her massively dwindling will to even exist. If it weren't for that cursed item she wouldn't be here in the first place.

"I don't understand, Muddy, aren't you enjoying my company?" Her pouty lips puckered with a mockingly childlike voice. A bastardization of innocence. With that Bellatrix laughed her harsh laugh and flicked her wand, pinning the battered girl, her back flat against the ground. Slowly she crawled on top of Hermione, until she was met with a rather similar position from the last torture session that she had endured from the dark witch. The only difference, this time, was that nobody would be bursting in to save her. Hermione was on her own with the insane pureblood.

"Now, tell me, little Mudblood, " Her dark eyes pierced the half-lidded ones like a predator bird piercing prey. Glaring from below "there is a real reason you returned to me. " Her sharp nails played with Hermione's throat, as if to coax out her prisoner's voice with a chilling ultimatum. At her weak silence, she continued. "It couldn't have been that you missed me," her right hand twirled a strand of hair, and gently stroked against her collar bone while her left only seemed to bruisingly grip her. "Or maybe wanted another mark…" At this she pulled her wand out from her sleeve and trailed it to the still fresh cut, jabbing the M with its electric tip. A weak cry emitted from the still paralyzed witch. Hermione felt like cattle being prodded. "It couldn't have been an attack; there would have been more of you. So, Speak up!" Another Jab, this time to the U. Black spots danced in her vision.

Hermione let out a soft sob. She tried to speak, knowing that her silence would cost her dearly. Her dry, choked throat only let one small word escape.

"Wand."

Bellatrix looked up from her slow torturing of Hermione's scar to her face. Her sharp eyes held a fierceness, and Hermione thought briefly between the spotting in her vision she saw a flicker of alarm across the woman's face as she scrutinized her victim. Bellatrix always handled herself well though, and crazy or not she was still able to perfectly mask any emotion she didn't want seen. Her little bit of worried shock faded with the transformation to a cold, evil looking smile.

"Wand, Mudblood? What about it?"

Hermione didn't have the strength to even begin to answer her question. She barely had the strength to breath right now. Bellatrix loved watching Hermione squirm, and the both of them knew it.

"Well Mudblood if you can't answer me then it's obvious that you're lying." They both knew she wasn't. There was nothing Hermione could do to change this woman's mind though as she dug the young girl's grave deeper and deeper. She may as well not even have a voice, it wasn't as if she could use it.

"No muddy, i don't think it was the wand," She slipped the dark object back into her sleeve, confusing and slightly relieving Hermione at the same time. Maybe the torture would be over for now, a slight bit of respite in her near future. Maybe, if she got a few peaceful moments she could collect herself long enough to come up with a plan of escape, away from the Evil witch and the wand that mesmerized her into risking her life for an answer.

Hermione let a shuddered sigh out which she saw Bellatrix slowly drift her hand to her Corset clad chest. Her fingers traced the laces, ghosting across the black leather until she reached its very edge. She softly grazed onto her pale flesh, her fingertips hardly touching the center between two peaking breasts. Perhaps the most delicate the young witch had ever seen the dark woman in front of her. Hermione hardly realized she was staring so intently at the woman's actions until the woman let out a throaty chuckle.

"Ah no Muddy, you didn't come because of the wand." She smirked as she saw the woman's confused and alarmed look, as if broken from some half lidded dream. Hermione's eyes grew wider as Bellatrix's hand drifted deeper down her flesh, under neath the leather corset.

Slowly the dark witch withdrew her hand from her chest, holding something which made Hermione's curious look switch to a poorly veiled terror. She should have considered herself a fool to think that this evil witch would only have one. This was a twin to the one currently laying at her bedside table back in shell cottage.

"I think, Muddy, it was the knife you missed."

* * *

Darkness.

It was probably a good thing that she couldn't see herself right now. Seeing the damage would probably make the pain even worse. As it was she felt as if she was nothing but shreds. She hadn't moved from the floor, even though the spell keeping her locked there had long since been removed. She felt the wet stickiness of her own blood in small pools around her body, a warm and slick halo to her entire body.

She had managed to stay conscious during a good part of it, and she was certain that Bellatrix had much to do with that. She was sliced for what felt like an eternity, until her body had moved past the shock of blood loss and she stopped shivering.

Bellatrix cast a simple blood replenishing spell, and another to stop her bleeding. It was enough to ensure that she wouldn't die, but definitely not enough to end the searing pain. Bellatrix hadn't said or done anything when she was finished. She was completely silent as she cast the bleeding witch on the ground one last cold glare before disappearing from the room.

Once she left the dim lighting faded almost instantly. Hermione didn't have the strength or heart to lift herself from the bloody floor. She knew that she would probably remain in this exact spot until Bellatrix decided to return, whenever that was. How had she let the wand get the best of her? Normally she was such a reasonably logical person. There was no reason for her to be stuck in a dank dungeon, facing death with every labored breath. Something terrible sank into Hermione's heart as she truly assessed the situation, the unlikely chances that she would live for much longer. The near impossible chance that she would ever see her loved ones, or anyone other than Bellatrix, ever again.

Part of Hermione wished that she would drift to sleep, and simply let death claim her. But the other half hoped beyond all else that she would live long enough to discover what the allure of Bellatrix's wand was, and why that fear flickered briefly within the dark witch's eyes.

* * *

Above within the Black Manor, Bellatrix sat in a high-backed chair facing the simmering coals in her fireplace. She sipped from a blackened wine glass, hiding the liquid within. The dying flame created illusions on the falls, and dark shadows danced around her, on her. In the light her liquid black eyes shimmered like mercury. Her right hand balanced the glass while her left delicately rolled her wand between her long fingers, both nimble and precise.

That Mudblood was nothing but trouble, nothing but a thorn in her side, nothing but a thief. A Thief of magic, of her wand. But she had it back. Her wand, her precious _precious _wand was back.

It had been a gift. It wasn't always her wand. Though she hardly remembered a time without it. Hardly remembered a time without such absolute power, of which all other wands seemed to pale in comparison.

It was a gift from The Dark Lord Himself. He presented her with it when she had became of age, shortly after she had been given the Dark Mark. Shortly after she had became a powerful witch and not simply a pureblood bride. A gift that gave her tremendous power, she loved the very feeling of the want within her grasp, the electric pulsing it sent every time she shot an unforgivable at all of the unworthy people which surrounded her. Every time she would do the dark Lords bidding, she would feel its surge of power wrap around her, strengthening her. An Unyielding Loyalty for an Unyielding Wand.

And that _Mudblood_ tried to take it all away.

But no matter, the wand knew where it belonged. And it returned to her, as it always did. And The filthy witch would pay, as she was paying now while laying in her own blood on the stone ground. But that was only the beginning. She would deal with the Mudblood, punishing her for all the trouble she had ever caused the Dark Lord.

Should she alert her master about Hermione's presence? No, she would do better than that, she would use her to capture that potter brat. Then She would be rewarded, and forever the Dark Lords second in command. Her wand pulsed at the thought.

Then she would kill the Mudblood. She already knew too much.


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione had lost the ability to discern dreams from reality. One moment she truly believed that she would wake up to the soft breathing of Luna in bed next to her, the salty wind playing with the sheer drapes. She would feel the warmth and see the pure sinlight playing behind her eyelids, all the while snug underneath the patchwork quilt covering her through the dry night. It was a new day, dawn not too far behind, fresh coffee and fruits would be waiting for her downstairs. She let out a contented sigh, shaking the sleep from her senses.

And when she opened her eyes, she thought she must have gone blind from the darkness in her dungeon cell.

This was the worse torture of all. Hermione wasn't sure if it was Lestrange's doing, or her own mind simply trying to drive her into an insane inexistence. The worst part about it all, wasn't distinguishing the reality, it was deciding on if the reality was where she wanted to be.

Hermione's bruised and scarred form would be a harsh site in the light of day, she was certain. The torture sessions only ended with a light healing, enough to make sure that nothing would be lethal, and then that was that as far as medical attention was concerned. It was interesting how little it took to keep a human being alive.

The cot was nothing more than a strip of canvas across a board. She slowly rose up from her makeshift bed, and paced the nearly pitch room. She couldn't really tell how long she had been down here; there was literally no way to distinguish the time. Her only company would be Bellatrix for their spontaneous torture sessions, and a mute house elf who brought her meager portions of food to sustain her self through her next round with the elf's master. She had tried profusely to communicate with the small elf, but she was simply faced with a tightly shut mouth and a fear in the creature's eyes at disobeying Bellatrix. Eventually Hermione took pity on the creature, lest it hurt itself for event thinking of putting a toe out of line.

She had walked rings around this room, desperately trying to find any way out, any since of light or day, anything to prove to her she wasn't in an oversized coffin. The only thing she was constantly greeted with, was that same jagged crevice she first discovered, marring the wall which she was tortured against on a regular basis. It was the only other thing in the room besides herself, the cot, and the toilet. She would stare at that gash, knowing there was just _something_ about it. It was something important. There was something she was missing.

Why was it there? Why wouldn't Lestrange fix the ugly thing, unless maybe it couldn't be fixed? What had it come from?

The questions. They became the only thing she could do to take her mind off of the pain. Unfortunately they ripped at her in an entirely different way.

Bellatrix had come back too many times to count; each time would be a routine. She would start off with more basic curses, and when Hermione was on her knees, trying to keep consciousness she would begin to speak. It was the last time she had come down to her tomb that had been just the slightest bit different; Hermione spoke back.

"Filthy mudpuppy enjoying her stay? I wonder how long it will be before you try to kill yourself. Weak beings, you muggles are, I honestly didn't even give you this long." Bellatrix took a leather booted foot, and barely kicked Hermione's side, making her limply fall onto her back. It was where she belonged, submissively staring up at her Pureblood superior with tears in her eyes.

"Well since you've held out for so long, I suppose I can give you a treat."

Hermione snapped out of her haze, her lifeless fog breaking with the idea of an answer to the many questions she had piercing her brain ever so painfully.

"Will she want to know where she is? Or maybe, how long she has been rotting here? What will become of her?" Bellatrix had a mocking pout, but she knew what this was. This was simply another form of torture for the young woman who craved knowledge more than air. And that is exactly why she did this.

"Come now, Muddy, ask what you want before I change my mind."

Hermione's throat constricted. Those were all questions she was dying to know, ones she never thought she would have the answer to. Now though, they all stood within her grasp and yet she was so very limited, it was almost more maddening than not knowing….Suddenly the real question she had been dying to ask burned onto her lips like fire. She may never forgive herself for what she was about to do, but the repercussions just had to be worth the risk.

"What happened to make that gash there on the wall?"

The look on Bellatrix's face was difficult to describe. There was an anger, mixed with a look of surprise at such and unexpected chance apparently squandered by the young woman in front of her to learn anything about her current status. And yet underneath all of that was a slight look of anguish. Her countenance held it well, but a sorrow, and a fear delicately played underneath the piercing black eyes.

"That's all that's left of the last girl to cross the Dark Lord, you filthy Mudblood."

She disapperated with a pop, not even attempting to continue her usual dark games with Hermione.

She stared at the gash for what felt like hours. Time being relative wherever she was, she could very well have spent the entire day facing the dark crack in the wall. It was deep, penetrating the stone in a way that only a powerful tool, or spell could have driven.

There was a feeling of truth behind what Bellatrix had said. She believed that indeed, this was something that had happened to someone who perhaps foolishly crossed Voldemort. But even then, what did he do to leave such a blemish? What happened to the victim?

The answer to her question only brought about even more curiosities, both driving her mad while simultaneously being the ones that were acting as her only means of survival. She needed answers, ergo she needed to live in order to see those answers out. Was the mark there because it was a cursed spot? Hermione stood up and approached the gash. She didn't feel anything particularly forboding, as one often would in a cursed space. Even touching the mark itself, she felt nothing but the cold stone and chipped fragments of granite. If it isn't a cursed mark, it should be easily repairable, so why not fix it?

A dim realization crept up on the battered girl, she backed slowly from the wall.

_Perhaps, it's a reminder._

* * *

__Bellatrix slammed the vase into the fire, the painted ceramic sending sparks of blues and greens all about. She paced the Library, her mind racing with so many things at once she couldn't even begin to sit still.

That Mudblood was either too curious, or too clever to be allowed to live. Any other question.

She could have even asked about her wand.

But no, the muddy little trollop finds the one weakness in her little game. She ruined it. And now Bellatrix was left to figure out the next course of action.

The brat had been in her possession for about a week now. The papers were littered with conspiracies on both sides, though since Voldemort pretty much owned the ministry and every propaganda piece that was distributed, it was mostly praise for the witch's suspected capture. The little leaks she had let spill served its purpose, however, she would be able to bait the others with this little witch, and then she could silence her admittedly brilliant little mind for good.

It was the thought of waiting out her plan which made her cringe.

She wouldn't be able to keep her prisoner in that dungeon for much longer, not when she was figuring things out. And since killing her was obviously out of the currently available list of options, relocation would have to do. Perhaps then the brat would stop trying to figure everything out.


End file.
